Battle of Nyeg Warl

by Rex Hazelton

  “Grour Blood! You've returned, and I see you've brought a guest with you,” one of the great cats exclaimed in a deep rumbling voice that characterized the griffinkynd.

  “Yes, I found her tangling with the hateful river-children. So, I thought I would bring her to Stromane and try to figure out what was going on.”

  “From the looks of her,” the first griffin added. “I'd say she's glad you dropped in.”

  “You're probably right, Rosh Blood,” Grour Blood agreed.

  Before long, with the white cliffs filling most of Muriel's line of sight, a chorus of enthusiastic roaring rose up from the wall of stone.

  Sensing Muriel was taken off guard by the powerful spectacle, Grour Blood calmly explained, “This is the way the griffin greet returning Blood.”

  Paralleling the white cliff's dizzying heights, Grour Blood soared along, displaying his guest to the others of his kind. Soon the younger griffin were flying around the returning elder, looking like hummingbirds darting about a flower.

  “She's kinda scrawny,” one of the cubs declared.

  “What happened to her fur?” asked another.

  “Children,” Grour Blood addressed the cubs in typical griffin fashion, “she's not a griffin, she's a human who comes from the land laying on the other side of our hunting waters.”

  “I hear humans are dangerous and are not to be trusted,” growled the smallest cub.

  “Not all humans, my child,” Grour Blood added. “Now off with you. We need to give the woman some time to settle in. Go children! You can come visit her later.”

  Satisfied with Grour Blood's words, one of the cubs swatted another flying nearby and shouted, “You're it!” A cacophony of shrill roaring followed the youngsters as they tumbled through the sky playing a game of griffin-tag.

  Muriel watched the cubs in awe. Schmar had never let the children living in his caverns play so freely. She was amazed at how boldly the cubs had approached their elder and was equally overwhelmed by the carefree attitude with which they played.

  Fanning his pinions as wide as he could, Grour Blood settled down in a large griffin's nest wedged between columns of crystal. Half the size of her childhood home, it was comprised of interwoven branches lined with a mattress of thick fur. Dismounting from Grour Blood's heavily-muscled back, Muriel walked over to the edge of the nest and looked down. Startled by the view, her breath was taken away by the dizzying height. The griffin that were skimming over the surface of the ocean below looked as tiny as gnats.

  Stepping back, Muriel examined the steep crystalline cliffs, jutting into the sky above. Other nests could be seen clinging to cracks or laying on ledges scattered across the stone's steep face. She noticed how many of the griffin, sitting in their huge fur-lined nests, were attentively watching her and Grour Blood. Others were scouring the ocean below, looking for schools of large fish.

  Turning towards the great winged-lion who had taken interest in her, Muriel said, “Thank you, Grour Blood, for saving me from a fate worse than death.”

  “You're welcome, young human,” he replied. “May I know your name?”

  “My parents called me Muriel.”

  “That's a good name, for it has several meanings, one being, 'bright shining sea.' That's a name fit for a griffin, since we live on sustenance which the sea provides.” Grour Blood's rumbling voice reverentially explained, “The sea is our mother.”

  “Are all griffin philosophers?” Muriel quizzed the great beast.

  “As long as we're well fed, we find time to consider many things concerning the Warl's Magic.”

  Sitting on his haunches, the huge winged-lion continued. “Ever since the first griffin took to the air, those of my blood have brought some of the greatest teachers and wizards, who have ever lived, to Stromane, so they could enlighten us with their wisdom. At the same time, we have sent our teachers out into the warl to instruct worthy men and women in our own wisdom and lore. I was on just such a venture when our paths crossed.” Grour Blood thoughtfully eyed his guest as he spoke. “I was on my way to the School of the Sword and Song, that lies at the feet of the Alabaster Mountains, when I decided to take a look around Nyeg Warl. You see, none of the Blood has been to your part of the warl in over one-hundred summers. So, I thought I would gather as much information about your land as I could. As I was doing this, I saw the predicament you were in and decided to lend a hand.”

  “Yet, in helping me, you weren't able to complete your venture,” Muriel interjected. “You never made it to the School of the Sword and Song. Nor, did you find the worthy person the blood could share their wisdom with.”

  “If you knew the ways we griffin's hold dear, you'd know I never aborted my mission,” Grour Blood explained. “We believe, many of those things that could be considered coincidences have, in fact, been orchestrated by magic that moves through the warl. So, you see, my venture was begun with an open mind. I had only determined to go to the School of the Sword and the Song, because that was a logical place for me to begin my search. But when I stumbled upon you, I knew my mission had been accomplished.”

  The implication these words held did not go by unnoticed. Having registered it in her mind, the griffin's explanation made Muriel feel self-conscious. Shaking her head disapprovingly, the disheveled woman tried to beg out. “Surely, you don't think I'm a worthy person, do you?”

  “Yes! I'm convinced you're the one the omen spoke about.”

  “What omen?” Muriel implored. This can't be happening. Grour Blood has sorely misjudged me, she said to herself before continuing. “If you knew the kind of person I am, you wouldn't think your omen was a good one, for I'm no more than a homeless thief.”

  “Homeless… maybe? But you're no thief.”

  “Well you're wrong! I just ate stolen bread and cheese for my breakfast.”

  “Stole… maybe? But you're no thief,” Grour Blood insisted.

  “How do you know that?” Muriel lifted her voice in frustration.

  “It's as I've said… the omen tells me this. Stealing food to survive evil times does not make you a thief at heart.” Trying to make his voice sound as gentle as he could, the winged-lion added, “People do desperate things, in desperate times.”

  “If that's the case, then tell me… what omen are you talking about?” Taking a deep breath, the tawny beast began his story. “Seven days ago, a light appeared on Stromane's white cliffs. It was no bigger than the pupil of my eye, so we disregarded it at first and tried to bat it away with our paws, but it was too quick. Yet, it would not allow us to overlook it. Darting and flitting about our nests, it harassed us until it finally got our undivided attention. Once we quit trying to knock it out of the air, it came to rest on the tallest pinnacle of stone, the very one rising high above our heads. In time, it began emitting a golden glow. Acting like a beacon, many of the blood were drawn to its light.”

  Once a large number of us had gathered in the air, surrounding the precipice, a voice was heard saying, 'The Prophetess is coming! You must go to Nyeg Warl and find her. Don't be deceived by her appearance, for she has suffered much.' Then to our amazement, the voice added, 'The power that will heal the warl shall flow from the wounds inflicted upon her.'”

  I asked the voice how we would know who the Prophetess was. It explained, 'She, who you see my light shining upon, is the one you must help.'”

  As soon as the message was finished, the light flashed northward, and, as quickly as a heart can beat, it was gone.”

  Sensing the voice's magic was good, the elders of our blood gathered in the Cave of Meeting and chose me to go and find the Prophetess. So, I set off for Nyeg Warl. As I flew, an evil magic, conjuring up dark foreboding clouds, tried to cast me from the sky. Repeatedly lifting me up to the stars, before throwing me back to earth like I were a stone, the terrible storm tried to drain my strength and break my will. For two days I battled the foul magic's might.” Grour Blood paused before lowering his head and adding, “I will admit. I didn't think
I would survive its savage onslaught.”

  Moved by the winged-lion's confession, Muriel went over and stroked the griffin's mane.

  Turning his head to look at the woman, blinking his eyes as he did, Grour Blood continued. “Finally, when I felt I couldn't hold out my wings any longer, I reached Nyeg Warl's shores. After landing, the storm dissolved more quickly than salt stirred in water. Upon arriving in your part of the warl, I slept for a whole day. Then, after eating a catch of fish that renewed my strength, I began flying over Nyeg Warl at an altitude high enough for men to mistake me for a hawk. Not long after I flew northward past the Thangmor Mountains, a bright flash of light caught my attention. So, I soared over to see what had produced the brilliant explosion. That's when I heard you singing the ancient Song of Returning you used to summon the Warl's Magic. When I saw the golden light glowing all about you, I knew I had found the one I was looking for.”

  Still, I didn't come to you right away, because I caught sight of two loathsome river-children who were riding their poor horses as hard as they could. So, I flew over to take a closer look, and followed them until they reached you. To my surprise, more of the foul creatures had already arrived. No doubt using the river to do so. Seeing you caught in the net was my cue to drop in. And the rest of the story, you already know.”

  After digesting Grour Blood's words, Muriel replied, “I doubt I'm the person you were looking for, though many strange things have happened which I can't explain. Nevertheless, I want to thank you once more for saving me from a fate worse than death.”

  Grour Blood bowed his head then leapt effortlessly into the air. Muriel watched the powerful griffin move from one nest to the next. Shortly afterwards, two lionesses flew over to Muriel and began licking her with their large rough tongues. In due time, she found herself and her tattered clothes spotlessly cleaned.

  After her bath, Grour Blood returned with a set of clothes held in between his jaws. Dismissing the lionesses, he dropped the garments onto the thick fur floor and said, “Here, put these on. They belong to Mystlnor the Elf-Man. He was the last person to visit our land, and the last to be taught our ways. His clothes are very old, but they should fit and help keep you warm.”

  Muriel put the forestgreen garments on, and discovered the griffin was right when he said they would fit her.

  In the coming days, Grour Blood shuttled Muriel from one nest to another, introducing her to the community. The visits were never short, for the griffin were unusually open and talkative. At times, if their voices weren't so deep, one might think they sounded like a flock of chirping birds. The fierce creatures were warm, friendly, and took a keen interest in her well-being. During the course of conversation, they found Muriel had a sincere and engaging personality. It was only a matter of time before they adopted her into their hearts and began calling her Little Sister.

  After the season for greetings had concluded, each day, either Grour Blood or Rosh Blood would carry Muriel to the Cave of Meeting. There, she was tutored in griffin wisdom and lore and given instruction in reading so she would have the skills needed to examine the ancient scrolls and manuscripts stored in the cave.

  Muriel's teachers varied from week-to-week, depending on the particular subject she was scheduled to study. Tor Blood was given the job of teaching her the Law of the Sky and Sea, the sacred doctrine that was the foundation on which the Community of Blood, as the griffin referred to themselves, was based. Muriel was told, if one could understand the Law, they could understand the very nature of the pride's heart and soul. Tor Blood's amber eyes were highlighted against a backdrop of long, black mane as he circled Muriel. “First, the Law teaches us to embrace humility. We are not to think of ourselves as being the center of the warl. Instead, we must realize each of us is just one piece of a greater puzzle, and because of this, each learns they play an important part in completing life's picture, a part that's not to be undervalued.”

  “Tor Blood,” Muriel interrupted the buckskin-colored griffin, “I know many people who are wandering about in a warl of anguish who will never contribute a thing to the puzzle of life you're talking about.”

  “Little Sister, what you've said is a tragic truth,” the winged-lion agreed. “Many of the puzzle pieces have been lost. That's why the picture is so obscure. It's our part in this matter to make certain, we don't allow ourselves to become one of these lost ones.”

  “And how do we do this?”

  “By realizing we become lost, Little Sister, when we think the picture can be seen just as easily without us. Once we believe our lives are unimportant, we can be tempted to withhold our piece from the puzzle. When this happens… everyone loses.”

  Irritated, by her teacher's words, Muriel stood before the griffin's massive face and corrected him. “You're wrong if you think the only way a life can be lost is when a person chooses to somehow withhold their piece from the puzzle. I've learned the hard way, many pieces are lost because of no fault of their own since thieves and murderers make the choice for them!”

  “Little Sister, I beg your forgiveness for my insensitivity.” Tor Blood bowed his head in contrition, before continuing. “Once again, you are right. Sadly enough, many have had their lives, and the choices that come with it, stolen away from them. But you must remember, though in times past you may have been one of these… that's not the case today. Now you're one of the blessed who have had their lives, and ability to make choices, given back to them. But as is the case with all who have grievously suffered, the chains you've had to endure may bind you long after they've been removed.”

  The great griffin went and stood at the cave's mouth overlooking the glistening sea and added, “We believe you are the Prophetess, she who will discover the magic of the Song of Breaking. We believe you will one day sing this song, and in turn teach it to others. By doing this, you will help usher in the age of Parm Warl.” Pausing to add to the gravity of his next words, Tor Blood concluded by saying, “Who knows, maybe your suffering has prepared you to become a doorway of hope to others, for who is more qualified to sing the Song of Breaking, than the one who needs it the most?”

  ****

  Young Seym Blood was given the responsibility of feeding Muriel. His job was divided into two parts: first, teach her how to fish; second, take her into the interior of Stromane and let her forage for the fruit, nuts, berries and vegetables growing wild there.

  Muriel knew she was more of a hindrance to the fishing expeditions than an aid. Her part in this matter was only honorary. The griffin let her participate in the hunt because it was an integral part of their community's life, and as an adopted daughter, she was expected to share in all aspects of that life

  The pride used her as their official spotter. Riding on Seym Blood's back, as he flew above the other griffin, she shouted out whenever she caught sight of a school of fish moving beneath the ocean's surface. The general knowledge that her eyesight was vastly inferior to the griffin's own gave the outings a humorous touch. Whenever she shouted out a find, the awesome beasts feigned surprise. Both she and her new-found family laughed uproariously at the creative expressions the griffin came up with before they plunged into the salty water in pursuit of the fish.

  Muriel loved fishing. She never lost the sense of awe she first felt witnessing a huge lion folding up its wings and dropping into a power dive. The grace, such large animals displayed, was astounding. Muriel had a hard time comprehending how her friends could so easily plunge beneath the water's surface and then reemerge with a large fish held between their jaws, when she had a tough time just splashing water on her face whenever she washed up for dinner.

  On several occasions, Seym Blood carried Muriel along as he executed another maneuver the griffin used for catching fish. First, Seym Blood gained the altitude needed, high above the waves. Then, after spying a suitable target, the powerful feline steeply banked toward the school of fish. While he plummeted downward, Muriel's heart rose up in her throat as the wind, caused by their furious desce
nt, tore at her hair. With the ocean's briny surface rushing up to meet them, she looked for the tell-tale signs indicating the school would begin leaping into the air, signs she had been carefully trained to read.

  The griffin, who had become experts in fish behavior, had long ago learned that schools of fish would jump into the air as they sped along. Sudden changes in speed and in the formations the school swam in, were all a part of the subtle signs that were preludes to their aerial acrobatics. Oftentimes, a larger predator, swooping up at the school of fish from the sea's depths, was responsible for the school's behavior. Other times, the fish's movements were inexplicable.

  Once the scaly prey did explode into the air, the griffin, anticipating the fish's manuevers, swooped down and grabbed them with claws nearly as dexterous as human fingers. If needed, they would employ their hind paws to stabilize larger catches.

  Seym Blood was also given the job of taking Muriel into the interior of the island to hunt for other foods needed to provide her human body with a balanced diet. The prides cubs loved to tag along with Muriel and Seym Blood whenever they would go on one of these foraging excursions. Making a game of finding the food the young woman needed, the miniature griffin let out little roars, calling Muriel to come and gather the things they had found.

  Zealous about attending these excursions, Muriel suspected the cubs thought of her as a pet they were dutifully taking for a walk. Determined to dissuade them of this attitude, she took the upper hand by ordering the cubs to go fetch the very fruit they had found for her. Thrilled by the praise Muriel heaped upon them, for a job well done, the cubs were soon looking forward to her compliments.

  In time, chuckling to herself, Muriel thought: Now who's taking who for a walk?

  Seym Blood loved observing this friendly battle of wills. He was always pleasantly amused whenever he saw the cubs perched on the cliff tops, waiting for him to gather up Muriel for one of their expeditions. Two of these cubs came to hold a special place in her heart, the young lioness Shar Blood- who Muriel nicknamed Mittens for her white forepaws- and a skinny young male named Nazar Blood, who she called Slim. These two spent hours with Muriel in the Cave of Meeting, the place the Community of Blood had designated to be her new home. They made this decision after a particularly heavy rain displayed her vulnerability to the elements. The cave did for her what the griffin' fur did for them.